Defiance
by LoveHP
Summary: Dwell into the mind of a evil-power-hungry-little-toad-like-witch called Umbridge. See what she thinks about, while she sits, surpervising detention and staring silently at her enemy. Please review.


**A/N **

**I don't own HP. JKR does.**

**Defiance**

Look at him ...

Head hung low as he scribbles on parchment with my quill of misery. His pathetic green eyes glued to the words he writes. He is far too emotionless as I scrutinise his relaxed form... vacant of pain. I must say he hides his burdens very well, but it is in such large measure that it is beginning to frustrate me.

I want him to feel the sting the letters possess.

It is for his own good, after all.

Or my gratification, perhaps?

Nevertheless, I observe him quietly; eager to know what he ponders while he mechanically scratches the quill across the page with that skinny hand of his.

Hmmm. I wonder if I should punish him too, for the desecration of my desk as rivers of dark red trickle down his wrist and silently poison my things?

Go on boy ... Tell me what you think of me.

_I want to know, you dirty little slime._

My fingers lightly rap the desk in my impatience. Against my will, my mouth opens and my unspoken question hangs on the tip of my tongue. But I cannot dare, so I close my mouth at the last moment.I'll leave it up to my imagination to muse about.

I could hear the fibbing brat now: _"Fat - little - toad - like - bitch!"_ It makes my blood boil just looking at him.

This child ... he is the fiend of all fiends. The devil in the shadows biding its time to destroy our ways and the peace we've enjoyed so long.

"I dare you!" I breathe, glaring into his ghostly blank face.

Suddenly, the boy looks up in slight confusion. I sit in horror at the thought that he had actually heard me. The candlelight dances on those eyes of his, still defying the pain he feels, waiting for me to speak. However, I smile awkwardly without repeating the words and wait for him to continue his punishment.

My work lies forgotten in front of me. I do not care any more! I never applied for this job to teach, but to find the power I desire and to torment those I despise.

Time wears on and I cluck my tongue rather brusquely watching him. The boy continuously stares into nothingness. His glassed, wide eyes are like annoying green beads I wish to perforate with my nails and tear open.

_Maybe then he will scream._

But not a single twitch of agony displays itself in that flesh of his, even though I see plenty of red. But blood is not precious enough to me now. I need more. I need to see his anguish.

It is like he's used to it ... wise to it ... _born to it_.

Damn him.

I WANT PAIN!

I want to see that child leak tears ... plead for me to stop the misery I'm making him suffer, and tell me how much it hurts by the injustice of it.

Cringe, my little fibber. Bite your lips until they bleed. I want to watch sweat slithering down your pale cheeks.

_And show me that you hate me ... because I ache to know._

Yes, I yearn to appreciate that my mark is more than skin deep.

DEFIANT LITTLE PRAT! ... CRY! ... LOSE!

_A tiny flicker of distress will satisfy my thirst tonight._

I shake my head pensively. I think that you are not as weak as I originally thought. But you must be weakened for our sake! You are my enemy: an unpredictable thorn that _must_ be crushed.

You may be a loner in a sea of unity, but your voice is a hairline crack that will lead all to chaos. No matter how long it takes, you must be stopped ... and _I am_ the one who will halt your black nonsense.

The punishment I have given to you does not seem to be working. I fear you need more discipline. Yes! The harshness of a stinging stroke against your back might do the trick. As much as I enjoy that thought, the rupture of your skin seemingly leaves your spirit unscathed. No - instead, more of the undesirable effect may occur and it may strengthen you beyond my wrath.

No, no, no, no ... that cannot happen! I love the sight of suffering and the cry of pain.

_Especially yours._

Yet you defy me, and I will not have it.

Suddenly, the flame of the dying candle highlights your writing hand. I look carefully and hope that my eyes do not deceive me. No, it is true. A smile creeps along the line of my lips and I narrow my eyes excitedly, leaning back on my seat because I see it ... the black quill shivers a touch as it makes its way across the page.

You're shaking ... a sign of your breaking.

Joy explodes within me as in a mother when she sees her newborn child. This is truly a moment to cherish.

"That is all, Mr Potter," I say sweetly and jubilantly.I smile annoyingly, seeing the parchment the boy finished writing on is entirely a sheet of crimson.

The boy sighs, dropping the quill carefully onto my desk with the fingers of his mangled hand.

He looks up. Our eyes meet and my smile falters in fear.

Those nefarious and dangerous eyes of his, stare into mine without a blink. _'I will not let you win!'_ those eyes seem to read.

I inhale deeply, hiding my frustration, leaning forward so my eyes swoop over that bloodied hand of his. "Same time tomorrow evening, Mr Potter."

The boy says nothing. He mechanically raises himself without taking his eyes off of me.

DAMN YOU!

This, Potter, is no longer detention. This now is strife ... A battle between me and you.

**Please review**


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